


A Billion Dollars in the Elevator

by writingonpostcards



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Lydia holds the elevator doors for a man in a well-tailored dark blue suit. He smiles at her when he steps inside and offers an outstretched hand, thickly veined and tanned. She takes his hand in hers and is surprised to feel its smoothness against her skin. Her pallor against his colouring is intriguing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He holds her hand for too long and the look he gives her signals he knows she noticed... and he wanted her to.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Billion Dollars in the Elevator

**Author's Note:**

> For Emme. The extent to which you ship Peter and Lydia scares me slightly, but I love you anyway. This one’s for you. Sorry about the sex.

Lydia holds the elevator doors for a man in a well-tailored dark blue suit.

He smiles at her when he steps inside and stands not against the opposite wall from her, but a mere two feet away. His smile isn’t grateful. Or it is, but it’s also something edgier.

“Peter.” He offers an outstretched hand, thickly veined and tanned. “Thank you for that.”

“Lydia.” She takes his hand in hers and is surprised to feel its smoothness against her skin. Her pallor against his colouring is intriguing. “You’re welcome.”

He holds her hand for too long and the look he gives her signals he knows she noticed... and he wanted her to.

“So,” he lets her hand go finally, but stays smiling. “Do you live in this building, or are you here for business?”

He has a pleasant speaking voice; smooth, cultured accent, and just deep enough to be resonant within the chamber of the elevator.

“I live here. Have for several years now.”

“Wonderful.” His eyes sparkle as he says this. “I’m only a recent tenant to these apartments. Perhaps you could show me around sometime?"

“Perhaps.” Lydia agrees with a twitch of her lips.

-

Lydia walks steadily to her apartment and lays her handbag in its regular spot in the entranceway. 

She moves lethargically to her bedroom, stands in the middle with the lights out and closes her eyes. 

Slowly, she trails her fingers over her body; up her sides, across her throat and into her hair which she removes from its bun, then down again across the centre of her torso, across the line of her skirt and down the sides of her thighs. 

She takes in a deep breath and does it over again, tilting her head back and moving it slowly, feeling her hair brush against her back through the fabric of her shirt.

Her fingers come up again along the front of her body, for the first time tonight brushing over her nipples through her blouse and bra. She draws in a breath at how sensitive they are, runs her fingers back down over them again as she goes to unzip her skirt and let it fall to the floor.

She spends time undoing the buttons on her shirt, fingers dancing across the newly exposed skin as she goes. She sighs and breaths deeply, craning her neck to feel it stretch and picturing grey eyes looking up through lashes at her.

When she’s completely undressed she makes her way by feel to her bed and lays herself in the middle of it, fingers never stilling across her body. They move over her shoulders, down her back when she lifts herself up to skim across her ass and move around the front to dance upwards again, tracing circles up and up and up and then around and around her hard nipples.

When Lydia’s fingers eventually descend to move through her folds and continue their circling pattern around her clit she let’s herself picture more than just grey eyes. She imagines a whole body alongside hers and in her mind the tanned and muscled man lavishes kisses all over her, breathing hotly against her shivering skin, and when Lydia is eventually overcome by her imagination and the physical sensation of her ever moving fingers she moans out a choked name. His name. 

-

“Martin Whittemore Lawyers.” It’s not a question and Lydia knows he’s looked her up. She’s honestly flattered and appreciates his bluntness in revealing he’s done so.

Besides, it’s exactly what she had done. 

“Hale Publishing.” 

Peter Hale smiles at her with devilish intent and she lets her eyes fall slowly from his eyes to his lips and down further before flicking them back up.

“How’s your representation?”

“Adequate.”

“How amenable would you be to a discussion about switching legal teams?”

“Very.”

“Wonderful.”

-

It becomes a game then between them, trying to one up the other; win the upper hand, know something unknowable, shock a crack into the controlled facade. The ride up the elevator is short so the words all become sharp with intent and double meaning. 

Lydia goes home every night for 3 weeks and plays out a more fulfilling end to their arguments. She’s confident Peter does the same.

-

“I don’t normally mix business with pleasure.”

“On the contrary, I find the two to be a... _stimulating_ combination.”

“Should I take that to mean your previous head of law and yourself have been intimately acquainted?”

“Should I take it to mean you haven’t had relations with Whittemore?”

He stares her down, eyes never waving from hers, nor blinking.

“Touché.” Lydia relents.

-

“Yves Saint-Laurent?”

“Caraceni.” The correction comes with a slick smile.

Lydia hums and raises an eyebrow in appreciation.

“Louis Vuitton?” He pronounces it perfectly.

“Charlotte Olympia.”

-

“Yoga?” Peter eyes the pale blue mat rolled and tucked under Lydia’s arm.

“Bikram.” 

Peter stills his body at that and tilts his head to which Lydia cocks her eyebrow at him, a favourite move of hers through which she can channel her judgement.

“Send me the details.”

She smiles like he did their first encounter; with an edge.

-

Peter’s apartment is as expected. Open plan. Greys and blacks and whites with deep green accents. A mix of photography and original art pieces on the wall. Minimalist. Clean. Everything toeing the line between hinting at and obviously flaunting wealth.

The open wine cellar is utilised and the couch cushions sacrifice their order for the sake of the night.

Lydia keeps her shoes on. Peter does too.

Peter angles his head toward the join of her neck and shoulder, his lips not touching the skin at all, barely brushing the hairs on her neck which are standing up at his proximity.

“I just bet,” he speaks slowly, softly, with a quivering space between each word, more air than actually noise, “that you could surprise me.” His lips still don’t make contact with Lydia’s flushed neck, but he trails one solitary finger up along her arm, bringing it to rest between his lips and her skin.

Lydia breathes slowly through her nose, desperate not to shake and lose the game. It’s been too long now for that. 

She runs her own finger over the one pressed against her neck so that it brushes his lips, then she uses it to angle his head up toward hers.

“I bet,” she mouths out against her own finger, the only thing separating their lips, “you’re right.” 

Then she stands from the couch, drops her hand, and walks out of his apartment without looking back.

-

Lydia watches as Peter takes in her pent-house apartment. As organised as his, but vibrant with colour. Peter’s charcoal suit stands in stark contrast to the violet of the wall so much that Lydia can almost imagine him as a silhouette painted onto her own walls to pursue at her leisure.

Even though he’s not she does just that.

Lydia takes her time undressing him, feeling not only his skin under the pads of her fingers, but the fabric of the clothes before that too. She folds each item with care, cherishing the warmth they maintain, and lets Peter do the same to her skirt and blouse.

She half-wishes they were in Peter’s apartment for this, just so she could see his tanned torso against the monochrome of his walls, standing out that much more. But he’s magnificent here too of course, otherwise Lydia wouldn’t be here.

The sex is easy between them, a mix of experience and confidence in what they both want. Neither is shy to let the other know, painting a manual in whispers and guiding hands. _Lower. Harder. Slower. Further._

_More. More. Yes, like that. More._

Night passes. They don’t sleep. But the bed does get used. As does the lounge and the thick carpeted hallway.

-

“You did surprise me.” Peter speaks against her shoulder. She smiles at him, traces onto his chest. _I’m glad._

“And I think,” Peter traces her stomach, no words, just circles, “I rather surprised myself.”

And then he kisses her as though he hadn’t been all night.

**Author's Note:**

> My first published work containing sexual content. Hopefully it worked out all right.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> (un-beta'd)


End file.
